Spend a few minutes scrolling through social media about Nepal, and you might get an impression that the country is in a state of irreversible collapse. Political instability, corruption, the mass migration of young people, bureaucratic deadlock—these dominate the discourse. The prevailing sentiment: Nepal has no future. Everything is a disaster. But is this the ground reality, or are we trapped in a collective mood—a pervasive atmosphere of despair that shapes how we interpret events?
Martin Heidegger, the German philosopher, argued that moods are not just personal emotions but collective states that shape how people perceive the world. A mood is not simply a fleeting feeling; it determines what appears possible or impossible. When we are in despair, everything looks hopeless. When we are optimistic, the very same circumstances can seem full of opportunity. The danger is that we mistake the mood for reality.
Right now, Nepal seems gripped by a mood of crisis. Every political event is framed as another step toward collapse. Social media amplifies outrage and negativity, reinforcing the belief that nothing works, that all roads lead to failure.
Even during periods of political stability, opposition forces often work to undermine it. Even when policies are introduced, bureaucratic inertia slows them down. In such an atmosphere, even genuine progress can go unnoticed, overshadowed by a narrative of dysfunction. Consider the issue of youth migration. Thousands of young Nepalis leave the country every year in search of better opportunities. But this fact alone does not mean Nepal is doomed. Migration is not unique to Nepal—many countries, even developed ones, experience waves of emigration at different points in their history. What matters is how a country responds. Will Nepal create conditions that encourage its youth to return with skills, experience and investment? Or will we resign ourselves to the belief that youth migration is irreversible?
Our answers to these questions are shaped by our collective mood.
Political instability is an undeniable reality, but does that mean democracy itself has failed? Nepal has seen frequent changes in government, but it has also witnessed major democratic movements, an engaged electorate, and a growing demand for accountability. Corruption remains a problem, but civic activism, investigative journalism and digital transparency tools are also emerging. The bureaucratic system is slow, but Nepal’s private sector—especially entrepreneurs in digital industries—continues to innovate despite these hurdles. And yet, these positive aspects rarely define the national conversation.
Instead, the dominant mood ensures that we focus only on dysfunction.
The possibility within breakdown
Heidegger also gives us another lens: breakdown. When things no longer function as expected, when the structures we rely on falter, we are forced to confront possibilities we may not have seen before. A system in crisis is also a system in transition. History shows that moments of instability often precede major transformations.
Many of today’s thriving economies—South Korea, Singapore, even post-war Germany—went through prolonged periods of political and economic crisis before they found their footing. Their progress was not inevitable; it was made possible because they saw their breakdowns as moments of reevaluation rather than permanent decline.
Nepal is at a similar juncture. The problems are real, but so are the possibilities. The same youth who are leaving for opportunities abroad are also part of a globally-connected, highly-skilled generation. The same political instability that frustrates us is also a sign of democratic contestation—a struggle to define Nepal’s future rather than resigning to a single, unchangeable fate. The same bureaucracy that slows progress also means that any reform, when it happens, has the potential to be institutionalized for the long term.
If we see only the breakdown and not the possibility within it, we risk deepening our national pessimism. And pessimism is not just an attitude; it shapes action. A country that believes it has no future acts accordingly. Talented people leave instead of staying to build. Entrepreneurs hesitate instead of investing. Policymakers, sensing the public’s resignation, prioritize short-term survival over long-term vision. But the opposite is also true. If we start recognizing the possibilities within this moment, we will act differently. We will invest, innovate, and engage. We will challenge the systems that don’t work rather than accepting them as permanent. Change begins not just with policy but with perception.
Choosing to see possibility
The power of mood is that it determines what we believe is possible. And what we believe is possible determines what we attempt to build. If Nepal continues to see itself as a country on the brink of collapse, it will act like one. But if it sees itself as a country in transition, in the messy but necessary process of change, then it can begin to focus on solutions rather than just problems. This is not an argument for blind optimism. It is not about ignoring Nepal’s challenges or pretending that everything is fine. It is about resisting the easy, self-fulfilling trap of despair.
Because in the end, national progress is not just about policies and politics, it is also about belief. Nepal’s greatest challenge today is not just political instability or economic hardship; it is the crisis of belief in its own potential. Just as mood shapes how we see the present, it also shapes what we believe about the future—and that belief, in turn, influences the path we take as a nation, from governance to progress and beyond.
